


the shrine of your lies

by ohthedrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohthedrarry/pseuds/ohthedrarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>draco malfoy has to juggle promises made to hermione and an oath to the dark lord.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the shrine of your lies

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for my first year seminar class instead of writing a paper on books 6&7\. i cried, my professor cried, my peer mentor cried.. there was a lot of crying. i’m also gifting this to emotionalxdramione on tumblr because she’s one of my favorites. title taken from "take me to church" by hozier.

Draco slid from his bed and pulled on his clothes in complete darkness. He tried not to stumble or knock into anything for fear of waking someone up. He could only imagine what would happen if someone were to hear him–if he were to get caught. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached for his tie. It seemed silly that he was taking the time to actually tie a tie, but he needed something to keep himself distracted. In less than two hours he’d be standing before Dumbledore, wand out and ready to kill.

His stomach churned at the thought. He felt cold and shaky all over, but he was sweating. Draco fell to his knees and reached for the bin beside his bed. He was sure he was going to be sick…

 _Get yourself together_ , he thought. _You can do this. He’s chosen you._

Pulling himself to his feet was harder than he’d expected, but he managed. His fingers shook the way they did when he was a child outside in the snow with his father, throwing around snowballs and laughing until his throat was raw from the cold. It took Draco several moments to slip into his shoes and tie the laces. His jacket came next and he didn’t bother with the buttons; his fingertips felt numb.

He slid quietly from the dormitories into the Common Room, breathing a sigh of relief as the glow from the fire warmed his skin. His wand felt heavy in his pocket but it was easy to ignore as he stood in front of the blaze.

“Draco?” a hoarse voice came from his left. His heart jumped and he turned sharply, reaching for his wand.

“Blaise?” he immediately relaxed, his chest rising and falling quickly. He felt lightheaded, as if he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Is it tonight?” Blaise asked, his eyes flitting about the room. He was looking at everything except Draco – like if he couldn’t see him he didn’t exist.

“Yes,” Draco replied. “It is.”

Silence fell upon the room, interrupted only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Draco’s hand twitched as he felt the urge to grab his wand. He didn’t feel safe here. He felt like the walls were watching his every move, listening to his every word.

Blaise nodded and let out a deep sigh, crossing his hands over his chest. His jaw clenched.

“Be safe, alright?” he said. “I know you have to do it, but please. You’re not like them, Draco. Make one wrong move and-”

“I know what I’m doing,” Draco all but hissed, his hand wrapping itself around his wand in his pocket. “He’s chosen me for this. You know that. They all know that. I am like them. I am one of them.”

 _No you’re not_ , a voice in his head pleaded. _You’re good. You are light._

Draco left the Slytherin Common Room in a rush, nearly tripping over the rug on the wooden floor on his way out. He let the stone wall seal itself up behind him. He felt lightheaded, as if he was going to pass out. The air around him felt thick and cold, like he was breathing in water from the Black Lake.

Something tapped him straight in the forehead. He held his hand out to catch the enchanted parchment, a force of habit. He’d begged Hermione many a time to please not send them straight for the area right between his eyes. Of course, she never did.

A beautiful folded up bird rested in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, scared of what could be inside. It blinked up at him and unfolded itself, revealing Hermione’s small script.

 

_Please.  
– H_

He held his hand out patiently and waited for it to erupt in brilliant flames that licked at his palm. The fire didn’t burn, but it tingled, and soon all that was left was a small wisp of smoke. Draco pulled a small scrap of parchment from his other pocket only to stop when he realized he didn’t have a quill. He sighed, allowing the parchment to fall from his fingers and glide to the ground.

Draco knew what Hermione wanted. It was her last chance to save him–to bring the Prodigal Son home. She was going to reach for his hand, beg him to leave with her. She’d cry and stare up at him with her eyes open wide, pleading for him to listen.

The halls of the castle were empty, as most everyone had turned in for the night. Draco’s tie felt tight against his neck as he walked, like a noose tightening with every step. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls and he stopped every few moments to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

Something sweet in smell caught his attention, and he made a left down a familiar corridor. To his left there was a classroom which hadn’t been used for many years. He pushed the door open and was immediately met by a wall of flowers.

“I’m sorry,” came Hermione’s soft voice. Draco pushed the flowers aside and looked to see her sitting on a desk in the middle of the room. “Transfiguration practice. They were old pieces of parchment.”

A tear slipped down her face and landed on the sleeve of her sweater. Draco’s mouth went dry at the sight of her sitting there. Her shoulders were slumped, her hair frizzier than usual. Hermione’s bottom lip was shaking softly, and she bit at it to distract herself.

“They’re beautiful,” Draco whispered, trailing a slim finger across an orchid’s petals. The flower was light purple, with periwinkle dots on the inside. Beside it were roses in every color imaginable. Soft white flowers no bigger than a small coin had scattered themselves about the mix, mingling with sun flowers and daffodils.

Hermione’s body shook as she let out a shaky breath. Draco looked away, unable to watch her like that. Hermione–his Hermione–never looked broken, or stressed, or upset. She held her head high and gave her opinion to everyone whether they wanted it or not. She was the girl who hit him for calling her a racial slur, and she was the girl who told him that she loved him.

She was proud, and smart. She was strong, and she loved. But she was never upset. She never cried.

Draco pulled out his wand and twirled it in a small circle. He whispered words into the flowers and watched as they began to weave themselves into a crown. Plucking it from the air, Draco walked over to Hermione and placed it on her head. She looked like a princess surrounded by a million flowers, each not nearly as pretty as she.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he told her, letting his fingers trail through her wild curls. “I do.”

“Please,” she turned to look at him quickly. His hand moved to rest against her cheek and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. Another tear slipped from beneath her lashes. “Please don’t do this.”

Her eyes opened and landed on his forearm where she knew the Dark Mark danced beneath his sleeve. His stomach was tied in knots and he had the sudden urge to try and scratch it off. He considered what would happen if he listened to her. If he didn’t complete his mission, if he didn’t run back with the Death Eaters to his home to tell the Dark Lord it was done.

Something soft touched at his bicep and he looked down to see Hermione reaching out to him. She ran her thumb over the fabric of his jacket in a soothing motion.

“I have to do this,” he assured her. He wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “I made an oath. I can’t back out of this. He’ll kill me, he’ll kill you-”

“I’m already as good as dead,” her voice cracked. “No matter what you do. By the end of tonight I might as well have a death warrant. But you… Draco, you have a chance. You can escape, you can help.”

“I can’t help,” he reached to place his other hand on her other cheek, forcing Hermione to look up at him. “I can’t do anything. I’m bound by magic. My hands are tied.”

Draco watched as the last of the hope in Hermione’s eyes disappeared. Her bottom lip shook with a new intensity and tears began to freely flow down her cheeks. He pulled her close to his chest as her entire body began to shake. He held her while she sobbed, mumbling into his clothes.

“Please… I need you, Draco… You can’t leave me… You promised you’d protect me… Draco I need you to stay… I can’t lose you… Draco… Please…”

It was as if the weight of the entire world was bearing down on his shoulders. He didn’t know whether he should cry, throw up, pass out, or fall to the ground. His blood was cold in his veins and he felt a sense of numbness that he’d never experienced before. It was comforting but scary at the same time. He felt so much that it faded out into white noise; a constant hum in the background.

“I have to go,” he wrapped his arms more tightly around her, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. She made a strangled noise and pulled at him, her fingers gripping onto the back of his jacket.

“Please,” Hermione reached up to cup his cheek with her hand, running her thumb along his cheekbone. “Be safe. Be careful. You aren’t like them, Draco. You’re good. I love you.”

Draco thought back to the time she’d first told him she loved him. It was after Cho had been questioned about her affiliation with and the workings of the DA. Their relationship had been going on for almost a year, consisting of secret meetings late at night in the library. The library quickly became old classrooms and broom cupboards; secret towers and hidden sections of dungeon.

The note she’d written Draco that particular night had been cryptic, more so than the others she’d sent before. Even a short glance at it and one knew that Hermione had been in a rush to send it. Her handwriting was tilted sharply to the right and her letters almost unreadable.

 

_Dungeon. Come alone._

_– H_

 

Hermione had looked so pale in the soft green light that existed beneath the castle. Her hair was pulled back in a fluffed up ponytail and she’d taken it out as soon as Draco had rounded the corner.

“I love you,” she’d blurted out, her arms crossed tightly around her chest. She looked as if she was trying to hold herself together. “I know you don’t love me, and that’s perfectly alright. After all, I’m not like you. I’m not-”

Draco had never felt so calm in his entire life. For once, he felt as if he was right where he was supposed to be. He’d let her stutter and mumble her way out of her confession as he approached her.

“I love you too,” he’d wrapped his arms around her and brought Hermione to his chest. Her arms found their way around in him return and he kissed the top of her head. “It’s the only thing keeping me from going completely over the edge.”

“You are what’s driving me over the edge,” Hermione had pulled back and stared up at him, her chin resting on his chest. “But, I like it.”

The sound of Hermione clearing her throat pulled Draco out of his memory. He stared down at her as she pulled back, moving her hands down to his chest.

“I love you, Hermione,” he watched in awe as she buttoned up his jacket for him. Her small fingers slid the buttons into place with ease. “You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.”

“You’re the reason my world is falling apart,” she offered him a small smile when she was done with his jacket. Draco’s heart dropped at her words. He knew they were true.

“Give me a chance,” he pleaded. “I’ll put it back together again. When all of this is over, I’ll save you. I’ll find a way to make sure you live.”

His words were empty, and Hermione knew it too. There was no way he could ensure her safety; not when she was everything that the Dark Lord despised. And she was working with Potter. She practically had a brilliant neon sign above her head saying, “Come get me! I’m ready!”

“Be careful,” Hermione repeated. “There are members of the Order here to search the school, as well as Aurors. You know that. Get them in, do your task, and _get out_. Please. Don’t harm anyone.”

Draco kissed her nose and then her lips, holding her as tightly to him as possible.

“I promise,” he whispered, before turning and walking from the room. He stopped just before the door closed and peeked inside, wanting to see Hermione sitting there for one last time. His heart clenched in his chest.

All of the flowers around Hermione were starting to wilt, the petals turning back to parchment brown and then crumpling to dust. Only the crown on her head stayed intact, though it too lost much of its brilliant color. Draco closed the door the rest of the way and set off for the Room of Requirement, his heart heavy in his chest.

He had to do this.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco bolted up the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower, his heart racing in his chest. The only thing he could think about was getting up to the tower in one piece. Forget the red haired body he’d stepped over. Forget the hexes being thrown left and right. Forget the small face off Hermione and Bellatrix had and the heart attack that had followed. Forget the sight of Greyback charging head first at Bill Weasley, lunging at him… teeth tearing into flesh… so much blood…

Disarm Dumbledore and kill him. Disarm Dumbledore and kill him. Disable Dumbledore and kill him.

Repeating his instructions over and over in his head kept Draco from throwing himself off the staircase and seeing how long it would take for him to hit the ground.

The door was a few steps away, getting closer every second. He couldn’t do this. Hermione believed in him even though she didn’t know his true plan. He’d told her he had to do something, get someone out of the castle. She thought he meant take Snape back to Voldemort. He’d never had the heart to tell her.

What would she do if she found out?

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Draco yelled as he threw open the door, his spell hitting its mark. Dumbledore’s wand flew from his hand and off the tower. Harry Potter, the hero himself, was stiff as a board off to the side. Dumbledore smiled calmly at Draco.

“Good evening, Draco,” he said.

“Who else is here?” Draco asked, moving more into the room. He glanced around as if expecting Hermione and Ron to be there too. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Draco felt dizzy. He was going to be sick…

“A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?”

“No,” Draco replied, trying to look anywhere but into Dumbledore’s eyes. “I’ve got backup. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight.”

“Well, well,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. Draco had the sudden realization that this was some sort of game to Dumbledore, like Poker or something. He was being toyed with. “Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?”

Draco felt the urge to reply with a sarcastic, “ _Obviously_.” After all, who else would have been smart or brave enough to do it?

“Yeah,” Draco breathed out. It was hard to form a proper sentence when his lungs were just as shot as his heart. “Right under your nose and you never realized!”

“Ingenious,” Dumbledore nodded, his hands folded neatly before himself. “Yet… forgive me… where are they now? You seem unsupported.”

“They met some of your guards,” the sight of Bill Weasley’s body flashed in his mind once again. He saw Hermione screaming, keeping her eyes away from him while she fought. “They’re having a battle down below. They won’t be long… I came on ahead. I – I’ve got a job to do.”

Dumbledore’s reply fell on deaf ears, as Draco was lost in thought. He was staring at Dumbledore seeing nothing. His mind was on the stars behind him, on the vast expanse of universe stretched out for miles. He and Hermione could do it. He knew they could. With his prowess when it came to Occlumency and her knack for being prepared for anything, they could survive.

“Draco, Draco,” Dumbledore’s words pierced through Draco’s train of thought. “You are not a killer.”

“How do you know?” Draco countered, even though he knew Dumbledore was right. How could he kill? He was just a boy. He didn’t even want to kill–he wanted to free his father. He wanted to save his mother, protect his family. They were all he had left.

He had Hermione, of course, but what good was she to him now? He’d chosen to do this. He’d chosen to leave her in that classroom. He’d left her surrounded by wilting flowers and allowed Ron’s brother to be attacked.

Draco imagined for a moment what would happen if he were to see Hermione again. What would she say to him? After all she’d done, after all she’d given him, he’d thrown it back in her face. He’d promised that no one close to her would get hurt. And he’d allowed the death of her best friend’s brother.

He was a killer.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” he forced out, his body beginning to shake. He was slowly losing control of himself. He could feel his blood turning to ice water in his veins, and his heart was surely going to burst at any moment. “You don’t know what I’ve done!”

“Oh yes, I do,” Dumbledore tilted his head and stared back at Draco almost mockingly. He was testing him–seeing how far he could push Draco until he broke. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts… So feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has really been in it.”

Dumbledore was right. He had almost killed Katie and Ron. Both scared Draco more than having the Dark Mark burned into his skin. He hadn’t wanted to kill them. Katie was an ace Quidditch player, amazing on the pitch. She was innocent and he hexed her. All she had to do was deliver the necklace and it would have been fine. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt. And Slughorn was the reason Ron got involved. It wasn’t him at all…

“It has been in it!” Draco heard himself shouting, but his mind was somewhere far away. He felt as if he was floating in the air above the tower, looking down on everything happening. He was disconnected from his body. He couldn’t feel the wand in his hand, or the breeze blowing against his face. He was numb. “I’ve been working on it all year, and tonight-”

A muffled yell came from somewhere below. He swore it was Hermione’s voice, screaming. Dumbledore said something which sounded like a voice coming from above the water while you’re drowning. Draco had the sudden urge to run to Hermione’s aid, to destroy whoever was threatening her. He was about to use an Unforgivable Curse already–it would make more sense to use it to save someone than to simply take a life.

If it meant saving Hermione, Draco would kill without a second thought.

“Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone,” Dumbledore commented. Draco’s attention snapped back to him. “What if your backup has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realized, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight too. And after all, you don’t really need help… I have no wand at the moment… I cannot defend myself.”

Draco’s mind swirled. He had a feeling deep in his stomach that Hermione wasn’t safe, that she was in trouble. He wanted to save her, to help her. He wanted to get her out of there. They could run from the castle and hide in the forest, getting far enough away to Apparate. They could go to Australia and bring her parents, create new lives as Muggles. He could learn how to cook and clean. He could go to school, become some sort of doctor. Hermione wanted him to pursue a career as a Healer. He was meant to help, not harm.

They could do it…

She needed him…

“I see. You are afraid to act until they join you.”

“I’m not afraid!” Draco lied. “It’s you who should be scared.”

He was scared, but of something other than killing Dumbledore. He was afraid that Hermione wouldn’t make it out alive. To keep their love a secret he hadn’t bargained for her protection. If he begged the Dark Lord to spare her–a Mudblood in love with someone like him–she’d surely be the first one killed. It would have sealed her fate, and his.

“But why? I don’t think you will kill me Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe…”

Dumbledore continued to speak but Draco couldn’t focus on his words. The fighting was getting closer, his time was running out. She might already be dead. And he was not innocent. Draco was as dark as Hermione was light. He fell in love with a girl who was everything he despised. She was a Muggleborn witch with tainted blood and skills Draco could only begin to understand. She could create the most beautiful stars to light their way in the dungeons. She could enchant paper and create a wondrous garden of flowers. Hermione’s magic spread happiness wherever it went.

Draco created only darkness. His absence made the flowers wilt, and he was hopeless when it came to charms. Her soft wisps of light made his look distorted and horrible.

“… work out how to do it.”

He knew Dumbledore was asking him how he got the Death Eaters inside. He racked his brain for an answer, fighting the urge to throw up. Draco was aware of himself telling Dumbledore about the Vanishing Cabinet and how he’d repaired it. He felt as if his mind was somewhere in space, muffled.

“A clever plan,” Dumbledore was saying. “A very clever plan… and, as you say, right under my nose.”

“Yeah,” the screaming stopped and Draco found himself standing up a little bit straighter. He looked at Harry, who still stood frozen. “Yeah, it was!”

He wondered if Harry knew about him and Hermione. He guessed that Harry didn’t, and it would make sense. But he wished there was a way to reach out to Harry, to speak to him without Dumbledore knowing. To know if everything would be okay.

To know if Hermione was okay.

Dumbledore spoke of the poisoned mead and the hexed necklace. He was teasing Draco; toying with him the way a cat toys with a mouse before it pounces. Only, Draco was the cat and Dumbledore was the mouse, biding its time. It was all backwards.

“I was sure it was you.”                                                                                                         

“Why didn’t you stop me then?”

Draco’s entire world began to crash down around him. Stars fell from the sky, clouds erupted into flames. Entire cities crumbled to the ground. Dumbledore knew. He could have stopped him. He could have saved him.

“I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders-”

Draco was grasping at straws, praying that the longer he was up here with Dumbledore and Harry the more of a chance Hermione would have to get away. If he stayed here he couldn’t hurt her.

The thought crossed his mind that he couldn’t save her either.

Dumbledore and Draco went back and forth about Snape. Draco told him about the Unbreakable Vow, and how Dumbledore was stupid for trusting Snape. He could feel a small sense of pride welling up in his stomach, a small flame surrounded by ice.

“He’s going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be over,” Draco yelled. “And he won’t be the Dark Lord’s favorite anymore, he’ll be nothing compared to me, nothing!”

Dumbledore mentioned Madam Rosmerta and asked how long she’d been under the Imperious Curse. He was trying to keep Draco talking, keep distracting him from the task at hand. Draco was vaguely aware of himself answering Dumbledore’s questions. His mind was drowning, his voice not even his own. He felt as if his body had switched to auto-pilot.

Another scream came from below, piercing through his thoughts. He was sure that it was Hermione that time. There was no doubt in his mind. Draco would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Enchanted coins,” he replied, his hand shaking. He stared over his shoulder at the door, fighting the urge to run to Hermione’s aid. “I had one and she had the other one and I could send her messages-”

“Isn’t that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore’s Army used last year?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yeah, I got the idea from them,” Draco replied. He remembered the first time Hermione had showed him the coin, how perplexed he was. The idea was brilliant. He’d wanted to do the same for the two of them, but Hermione thought the notes were romantic. “I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions.”

That was a small lie, but he tried his best to make it work. Hermione had told him about it, not someone else, over a book late at night. She hadn’t meant anything by it, but when word got out about the mead she’d immediately known it was he who did it. He’d thought she would have been angry, especially since it almost harmed Ron. But she’d simply taken his hand and said that it was a good thing Ron hadn’t died, and that Draco hadn’t succeeded. She didn’t want another’s life to be on his conscience.

“Please do not use that offensive word in front of me,” Dumbledore said. Draco fought to keep from laughing at how silly that sentence was.

“You care about me saying ‘Mudblood’ when I’m about to kill you?”

Something sharp pierced his heart when he said the word a second time. Hermione wasn’t dirty. She was clean, and bright; beautiful.

“Yes, I do.”

Dumbledore kept talking, but something moving in the clouds caught Draco’s attention. Floating about the tower was the Dark Mark, the snake weaving its way out of a skull’s mouth. His forearm burned painfully. Another scream came from downstairs. Dumbledore spoke of the Dark Mark, and Draco was aware of himself speaking back. He’d gotten used to the feeling of not being in control of what he was saying or doing. He locked eyes with Harry for a few brief moments before forcing his attention back to Dumbledore.

“Am I to take it, then,” asked Dumbledore, “that nobody has been murdered?”

All Draco could see was red hair and blood.

“Someone’s dead,” Draco told him. “One of your people… I don’t know who… I stepped over the body…”

He saw Hermione standing there with her wand raised, hair wild. She looked beautiful.

More screams and shouts came from below, but they were closer this time. Draco’s heart stopped beating for a few moments before picking up again. He felt the sudden urge to throw up.

Hermione didn’t know his true task. She’d thought it was to get at Snape. He’d lied and told her that the Dark Lord knew of Snape’s true loyalties, and that he wanted him dead. His task was to retrieve Snape and bring him to the Dark Lord himself.

If she came up the stairs… if she saw him…

Draco couldn’t handle that.

Dumbledore pleaded with Draco to talk about his options, to think things through. He shook his head, tears begging to burn his eyes.

“I haven’t got any options!” he forced out, waiting for Hermione to burst through the door. He could only imagine what she’d do, what she’d say. He knew there would be no chance for him to make things right. “I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my entire family!”

He’ll kill Hermione.

Dumbledore spoke of helping him, of giving him another chance. Draco wanted desperately to believe him. Hermione would be there, she could help him. The two of them, they would be alright. But his parents… his own life. He wanted to live. He wanted to love. But for him, those two things didn’t happen at the same time. It was life or love. He had to pick.

“I can help you.”

“No you can’t!” Draco was visibly shaking. “Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.”

“Come over to the right side, Draco… you are not a killer…”

Draco blanched.

“But I got this far, didn’t I?” Draco forced out his words. He could hear footsteps closing in on the door. It was almost over. “They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here… and you’re in my power… I’m the one with the wand… You’re at my mercy…”

“No, Draco,” Dumbledore’s words were quiet. “It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.”

Draco thought of Hermione running up the spiral staircase, wand raised and ready to strike. He thought about his parents and the decisions they’d made. They’d sealed their fate, but he still had a chance. His arm was growing tired of being held up for so long. He could feel it starting to lower…

The door burst open and Death Eaters surrounded him, shutting it behind themselves. He felt his mind close in on itself, shrinking. He felt far away again, like he was a hundred miles below water and everything else was happening up on the surface.

Dumbledore spoke with the Death Eaters conversationally, like a man who was ready to greet death with open arms. He knew his time left here was limited. And he was trying to milk every second of it.

“Come on, Draco, do it!” shouted a Death Eater, but Draco wasn’t listening. He could hear people on the other side of the door trying to break through. He wished they would. He prayed he would be saved.

“Now, Draco, quickly!” shouted another. Draco wanted Hermione to burst into the tower, to stand in front of him a lioness protecting what’s hers. He imagined her wild hair fanning out before him, her arm thrown out to the side to block him. Her wand raised.

“Draco, do it or stand aside so one of us-”

Snape burst through the door, his cape billowing wildly in the wind. Draco was suddenly aware of the feeling of it on his face and neck. His skin was cold. More people talked, but Draco couldn’t hear them. He saw Snape raise his wand and point it at Dumbledore.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Dumbledore was dead.

Draco could feel Snape grabbing at his collar, pulling him out of the tower. He allowed himself to be dragged down the stairs, stopping only when he reached the bottom.

“Wait,” he whispered feebly. Snape paused and motioned for the rest of the Death Eaters to travel on ahead.

“What is it?” Snape asked. His eyes were soft, as if he already knew.

“Do you have a quill?” A small tear slid down Draco’s cheek. He felt light, and dizzy, as if he was floating somewhere far above the clouds. Snape reached into his pocket and produced a quill, handing it to him. Draco pulled out a slip of parchment and began to write.

 

_I’m sorry. I will protect you. You have my word. I love you._

_– D_

 

Draco held the note in his palm and tapped it with his wand. Both he and Snape watched as it slowly began to fold itself up into a tiny little song bird, and flitted down the corridor.

“We shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep,” said Snape softly. Draco looked up at him, and he realized the two of them weren’t really all that different.

“I’m going to keep my promise,” he told him. “Or I’m going to die trying.”

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments and kudos! and follow me on tumblr: draqo-pctter.tumblr.com


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